I go into the small, cluttered kitchen of our two bedroom apartment
And I take the scissors from the draw
I lock myself into the bathroom with the broken mirror
Seven years bad luck turned on me and me only
I look into my illuminated reflection in the mirror
A crack appearing through my breasts
Brown, shiny hair falling down almost to my butt
I don't know why I even grew it that long
I don't know what was wrong with me
Why would a boy
Have long hair?
'Goodbye Rose.' I whisper into my reflection as I push the blades together with a satisfying snip
'I'm sorry. The old Rose can't come to the phone right now... why?... oh... 'cause she's dead.'
I cut and cut and cut until there's nothing left. Just a heap of once centimetre short strands of hair. Bobbing around on my head.
I look like a boy
Almost like a boy
I just need to compress my mounds of milk making tissue
And my red blood bleeding private part
I can see my future
I will be a 'He'
I am a 'He'
